Indiana Jones, and the Golden Wedge of Ophir
by Clownwithachainsaw
Summary: Adrian sends Indiana Jones on a mission to retrieve the Golden Wedge of Ophir. But things are complicated when Rorschach gets involved. And it was tough enough when both the Russians and the Comedian want the same thing.
1. Chapter 1

A mountain loomed in the distance.

A troop of soldiers walked through the jungle. The man in the lead stopped, and motioned for the others to walk around the mine he'd spotted. He shifted his large gun to a more comfortable position, and kept walking.

The man next to him had also seen the mine, but was impressed that his guide had seen it. They kept walking for some distance until they saw a clearing in the trees. The two men motioned for their troop to fall back as they eyed the bunker. In it, the Nazis held the spear of Longinus.

A drop of blood fell on the first man's smiley face button. They looked up. Several corpses hung in the trees above them. They looked at each other. These Nazis were monsters. The second man pulled out his fedora, and put it on his head resolutely.

* * *

Inside the bunker, there was a knocking on the door. The two men looked at each other, then quickly put away their cards and straightened up. One of them opened the slit to see who was behind the door, and two fingers shot through, embedding themselves in his eye.

The Nazi screamed in agony and fell to the ground. His partner grew red with rage, and opened the door, gun ready to shoot anything that moved.

He wasn't ready for the right hook.

As he fell to the ground on top of his partner, two men walked through the door. Indiana Jones walked down the hallway. The Comedian stopped, shot the screaming guard, and followed.

"They'll know we're here now." Dr. Jones said.

"So?" The comedian asked. "That means that now I can use my guns." Which he proceeded to do on the next soldiers to run down the corridor. They ran down the hallway, and came to the workshop, where everybody's guns were pointed at them. Indian leapt off the balcony, swinging his bullwhip. It latched onto the ceiling fan and he swung in a circle, Nazis shooting at him.

The Comedian proceeded to shoot anybody in the room who was shooting at Jones, and he leapt down onto the lab floor. He continued laying fire until only one soldier was left standing. He pointed and shot, but his gun clicked empty.

The Nazi laughed as the Comedian took out a pistol and fired. He missed every single time. "You zink you can stop me Vith zat clumsy veapon?" He took off his glove, to reveal the head of the spear of Longinus embedded in the skin of his hand. "I am infincible!"

Indiana dropped behind him and let fly his right hook. He missed.

"Fool!" The soldier cried, backhanding Indiana before drawing his gun. "I cannot be hit by any veapon! Including your puny fists! I am Captain Neglebun of ze zird Reich! I vield the spearhead of Longinus! You zink you can just, punch me?"

"Actually," Indiana muttered, smiling. "I think I can distract you."

The Nazi looked down at the grenade that had rolled between his legs. He looked back at the Comedian who was nonchalantly lighting a cigar.

"No." He said, just before the grenade went off. Indiana Jones and the Comedian ran down the hallway, as multiple explosions, set off behind them. They left the bunker just in time.

The explosion knocked them to the ground. They got up, bruised but otherwise okay. Indiana sighed. "The novelty of actually having a plan is shadowed by the fact that we had to improvise anyway."

"You had to improvise." The Comedian laughed. "I had to blow him up."

Suddenly, clicks were heard around them. They looked and saw that the Nazi soldiers had surrounded them, all pointing their guns at the two. Indiana whistled.

"If you were thinking of calling your men Dr. Jones, know that they are all dead." A young German captain walked to the forefront of his men. "I assume you killed Captain Neglebun?"

Indiana nodded.

"Good, he was getting ambitious. Now the question is, how did you kill the little war machine?"

"Easily." The Comedian grunted. "Kind of like this."

Suddenly, fire erupted around them. The two heroes got up and ran, as a round ship shaped like an owl flew down and doused the Nazi soldiers in napalm. After the troops were dispatch, a hatch lowered on the strange vessel, and they jumped on. Nite-owl let out a small victory yell and steered his ship home.

* * *

"Professor Jones."

Indiana woke up. He was asleep at is desk. The new Dean of Marshall College was at his door. He looked anxious. "You have a visitor. Remember when I said you weren't allowed to go off on any of your adventures if you wanted to continue working here?"

Indiana nodded.

The Dean hesitated. "Well… you can go on an adventure for this man." He left hurriedly.

Indiana was confused, until a regal figure stepped into his office. He wore a pinstriped purple suit, with gold cufflinks and necktie.

"Hello Ozymandias." He muttered.

* * *

"Are you familiar with, the Golden Wedge of Ophir Dr. Jones?"

He thought about it. "Yeah, I think I read it in Isaiah once. 'I will make man more precious than fine gold; even purer than the golden wedge of Ophir' or something like that."

Adrian nodded. "It was once in the possession of Alexander the great. I found one of the scrolls of the library of Alexandria mentioning it. That it was a knife of great power he used to cut the Gordian knot." He paused and looked at him meaningfully. "I want you to find it for me. For the museum I am funding."

Indiana shrugged. "There aren't many texts on the subject. It isn't like one of the most sought after objects in history."

"Actually," Adrian interrupted. "The Russians are indeed after it. As is your old friend, the Comedian."

Indiana sat upright in his chair. The Comedian was prone to destroying most of the artifacts they had come across in their adventures. If he got the wedge, it probably wouldn't survive the journey home.

"Who would send the comedian to get the wedge?"

"A man named Nikolas. Don't ask me about him, all I've got on the man is his name. And the fact that he was involved in the assassination of President Kennedy."

"I thought the Comedian was a true American? Why would he work for this Nikolas?"

Adrian shrugged. "All I know is what I know, and I know quite a lot but not everything. I'll pay all the expenses and point you in the direction the Russians and the Comedian have been pointed. I expect you to leave tomorrow morning."

He turned to leave, but Indiana stopped him. "Just one more thing, Mr. Veidt." He said. "You're smarter than me, younger than me, and according to what I've read, stronger and faster too. You're also rich. Why aren't you hiring a crack team of treasure hunters and going after this knife yourself?"

Adrian shrugged. "Well Dr. Jones, I've seen your resume. You are my crack team. You have led an illustrious life, a life that I almost envy. Not many people can claim that Adolph Hitler personally declared war on their family. And I know of only one other who can claim to have survived an atomic explosion. I have personally read the files on Russian psychic experiments, and have conducted many such experiments myself. That you have survived an encounter with Mrs. Spalko without having your brain turned to mush is in itself, impressive. You have far more experience dealing with supposedly mystical artifacts than anybody on this earth, let alone America. No Dr. Jones, I believe you are the only person qualified to find the knife. And of course, I have a business to run in the meantime."

He smiled, and took his leave.

* * *

Dan Dreiburg had grown fat over the years of inactivity.

_"Time to wake up."_

He jolted awake to see Rorschach staring at him. At least he assumed he was staring at him, it was disorienting looking at that mask.

"Rorschach! How are you?"

He grunted. Then gestured to the papers he'd put on Dan's bed. One was a picture of a man in a fedora. The other was a bank receipt.

_"Veidt has paid a significant amount of money to a Dr. Jones. He has since left for small country in the middle of soviet territory. Why? What is Veidt doing? What is Jones doing? Why Jones?"_

"Whatever it is, I doubt it's anything suspicious. Rorschach."

He tapped the receipt and Dan looked at the amount of money paid.

"Okay, well that is a significant amount of money. But what does that have to do with…"

Rorschach tossed a vanilla envelope onto the bed. _"Nikolas."_

"What?" Dan asked opening the envelope. There was a picture of a well groomed man, blonde hair, and to all appearances a normal person. There was another picture with him in front of a suburban home, with a wife and two children.

_"Nikolas is a member of the F.B.I., and the only survivor of a recent raid on Area 51. He calls himself Harvey East, but his real name is Nikolas Von Hamlet. I tried to get into his house once. His 'neighbors' tried to shoot me. Highly trained marksmen, with high caliber Russian military grade sniper rifles. Speaking of which."_ He said, _"You need a better lock."_

Dan groaned. "Well? What does this Jones person have to do with Adrian or Nikolas?"

_"Adrian made his payment to Jones exactly one day after a similarly large sum was paid to an Edward Blake. Blake and Jones are now in the same continent. Also, Blake was a veteran of World War II and the Vietnam War. Documents show that he served alongside Jones in a number of 'special missions' the nature of which is not known to me."_

"It could just be a coincidence." Dan mumbled. He already knew what Rorschach would say.

_"Coincidence is when you don't know who's pulling the strings. I think Blake has been sent to kill Jones who is on an important errand from Veidt. Or a dangerous one. Possibly involving archeology. Besides a war vet, and a professor, Jones has been on several archeological expeditions."_

"So, why come to me with this?" Dan asked.

_"I have no passport. I need a way to get across the world without being detected."_

There was a silence.

Dan sighed. "You know where the keys are. Don't scratch it."

_"You're not coming?"_

"I'm retired Rorschach, I've told you that before."

Rorschach was silent for a moment. Then he turned to leave.

_"Thanks for the ship Dan. And the ravioli."_


	2. Chapter 2

The Mars Casino and Lounge overlooked a quiet beach in Florida littered with several candle-lit patio tables. Music filtered outside through the open doors to the Casino, accompanied by the band playing outside. One guest, alone at a table, spun tapped his feet to the music. His feet were accompanied by his left hand, which twirled an ornate Russian knife through his fingers.

"Those are some nice moves." Said a distinguished looking asian man, walking up to his table. "Where'd you learn to use a blade like that?"

"From the Apache." The first man said, plunging his knife into the lobster. "Thanks for agreeing to meet with me ."

"Well I could hardly do otherwise." Said the older man, sitting down. "One would be a fool to ignore somebody who claims he can connect me with the Yakuza. Especially when he is sent a picture of the crime in the mail."

The younger man nodded. "You have something I want."

"Enlighten me." Yong said calmly.

"Oh, just a painting." The younger man said. "The artist's name was Leonardo DaVinci. The painting's called… the Mona Lisa."

Yong sighed impatiently and shifted in his chair. "If that is your price, then it is yours. If you will accompany me to my suite, I keep it in my safe. Do you have the negatives with you?"

The younger man tapped his jacket pocket. Yong nodded and gestured for him to follow. The both rose from the table, the younger man pocketing his knife, and following Yong into the casino. The inside was lavished with supposedly fine artwork and statues.

"I must admit," Yong said, gesturing his companion into the elevator. "You are not what I expected. When I heard you were after the Mona Lisa, I did a little research. You don't have a degree, you aren't affiliated with any criminal circles I've heard of, and you have absolutely no connection to France. Why are you after the painting?"

The man shrugged. "It's my business. I'm a treasure hunter. The men I work for will pay handsomely for the Mona Lisa."

"Interesting." Yong appeared to lose himself in thought for a while.

The elevator doors opened, and the two of them stepped into a red-carpeted room, with very luxurious oriental décor. A steel table sat in the center of the room, decorated with dragons. Curtains were hung around the room, embroidered with elegant floral designs. Small jade statuettes occupied most available surfaces. "Please, have a seat. Help yourself to the rice wine." Yong said, gesturing to the glasses and wine bottle on the table.

"I'd rather just finish my business here and leave." His guest said, looking around the room.

"As you wish." Yong shrugged, walking over to a painting on the wall. He removed the frame, revealing a safe behind it. Entering the combination, he opened the safe wide, showing his guest the contents. The Mona Lisa sat in a corner, atop a small pile of papers.

The man walked towards it, but then Yong shut the safe.

"What gives Yong?"

"I thought that you would like to see her." The gangster grinned. "Before you die."

Seven armed men came out from behind the curtains around the room. They all pointed their guns at the man in the open.

"Well I figured this was going to be a trap." he said. "I just thought you would show some originality from the guys I usually collect from and not underestimate me."

Yong threw back his head and laughed. "Underestimate you? How could anybody take you seriously? You come here, trying to blackmail me, – me! – and you bring your only leverage with you. It will die with you now. You are not the first treasure hunter to try and take my painting, you will not be the last. This isn't my floor's original color you know. You're just a kid, bringing a knife into a gunfight, and thinking he can win. You are not your father Mr. Jones."

Henry 'Mutt' Jones gritted his teeth. "No, I'm not my old man. He would've fallen for the poison you put in your rice wine, and he would've been surprised by your goons hiding behind the curtains. And he would've escaped with the painting anyway."

Yong nodded sagely. "Maybe. Maybe not. But one thing I know; of the two of you, you are hardly the more effective." He walked behind the gunmen and gave an order in mandarin.

As they leveled their weapons, Mutt ducked under the table, throwing his Russian knife at the man with the tommygun. It embedded itself in the cartridge, jamming the gun. Mutt lifted the table and the thugs started shooting, denting the metal. The first man dropped his now useless tommygun and ran around to the other side of the table. Mutt blocked his first overhand blow, then punched him in the groin and pushed him into a curtain.

Yong yelled angrily, and two of the gunmen dropped their pistols and drew twin sai, circling around to the other side of the table with their companions. Mutt took out his two hunting knives and jumped out from behind the table. The knifemen lunged at him, and he was careful to keep them between him and the gunmen.

The three of them danced around the room slicing and cutting at each other, as the gunmen followed trying to get a shot in. Mutt cut upwards at one of the knifemen, drawing his defenses up, then jabbed both of his knives into the man's ribcage. He pushed the man into three of the gunmen, then turned around to kick in between the other knifeman's legs.

The gunman still standing pointed his pistol at Mutt's head… then realized with a small click that he was out of bullets. Before he could recover, Mutt knocked his arm away and headbutted him. The man collapsed onto the ground, unconscious, and Mutt held his head, breathing in sharply. He recovered in time to deflect the knifeman charging at him, knocking him into two of the men getting off of the floor.

The one off the floor shot twice, then lunged at him, Mutt sidestepped, tripping him into a curtain. The man fell through the curtain, then through a window, falling five stories down to the street below, accompanied by shattered glass. The man who had the tommygun untangled himself from the curtain grabbed Mutt from behind, wrapping him in a bear hug and moving towards the window. Mutt stretched his legs out, and pushed off against the window frame. He kicked down at the man's expensive shoes, crushing his toes. The man loosened his grip, and Mutt broke free, swinging his fist around and plowing it into the man's face. Blood spurted from his nose and he fell backwards, out before he touched the ground.

The three remaining men stood up and pointed their guns at him. He whipped out his pocketknife menacingly, only to have them laugh at him. He looked down at his hand and realized he'd threatened them with his collapsible comb instead. He gave an apologetic smile and shrug, then ran as they started firing at him. Yong ducked as Mutt ran around the room, bullet holes appearing in the walls behind him. "No you idiots!" Yong yelled, as a stray bullet shattered the combination lock on his safe.

The gunmen stopped shooting, and Mutt took out his pocketknife – his real one this time – and threw it at the gunman in the middle. Mutt opened the safe and took out the Mona Lisa. "Catch!" He yelled, tossing it at the gunmen. They both dropped their weapons and made a grab for it, and Mutt punched them both out while they were distracted.

He breathed heavily, and tucked the Mona Lisa under his arm. He looked down out the shattered window, and saw the police gathering around the casino, drawn by the body that fell from the fifth story. He walked around the room gathering his knives, then turned to Yong, still cowering in the corner. "Never bring guns into a knife fight." He said with an arrogant smile, and he jumped out of the window just as the police barged through the door.

Mutt grabbed the decorated wire running down from the casino and slid down it, the Mona Lisa tucked under his arm. He let go three stories down, landing in the prize convertible out front. He set the Mona Lisa down on the seat next to him and flexed his fingers, only moderately protected from rope-burn by his glove. He ducked underneath the seat and began to cut wires underneath the dashboard as the police began to converge on the car.

He reconnected the wires, and took out his skeleton keys. He took out the one for cadillacs and turned it in the ignition, bringing the 250 horsepower car roaring to life. "Woohoo!" He yelled as he drove off the platform and into the Florida night.

* * *

Mutt sighed. "Yes, carbon dating confirms it's the real thing. But you could say the same of the Mona Lisa hanging in the L'ouvre."

Mutt was back at his hotel, sitting on his bed facing the stolen painting. "Well, I assumed the plan was you'd display it in your house or something and tell all of your criminal friends how it's the real thing."

Mutt hated this part. Chasing after treasure and fighting criminals with guns… that was all in a day's work. It was like a game of chess and an amusement park ride at the same time. A kid's fantasy, right behind being Superman and being James Bond. But dealing with some of these self-absorbed megalomaniacs who think the world revolves around them… sometimes it put him off his T.V. dinner.

"Listen, It's as close as you're going to get to the real thing, unless you're paying me to break into the L'ouvre too, and you don't have that kind of money. Do you want it or not, yes or no?"

His client begrudgingly muttered his consent. "Alright then. Have the money ready." Mutt hung up in frustration.

He carefully wrapped up the Mona Lisa, packing it in a briefcase filled with packing peanuts, marking it Fragile. He put on the stamp and wrote down the address. Tomorrow, he'd go down to the post office and his client would have his money ready. The Mona Lisa would be on her way to Washington.

He collapsed into bed exhausted. I really need to get away from the business for a while. He thought, before slipping into sleep.

He woke up at quarter past five to the phone ringing. He groaned and pressed the bridge of his nose, studiously ignoring it. It rang again. He sighed, and lifted the receiver. "Hello?"

"Hey Mutt." It was Kathy, his usual contact between clients. "Sorry for waking you."

"Yeah, whatever, make it quick." Mutt muttered, half-awake.

"Your dad called. I told him I was your girlfriend and you were out studying with your friends. He said it was urgent. Otherwise I would have waited until tomorrow to call."

This perked Mutt's interest. "What was dad calling about?"

"He said he wants to know whether you can make time in your studies to go to the middle-east with him."

"Yes!" Mutt yelled. "I mean… Yeah, I'll call him. Tell him I can make time. Thank's for the heads up Kathy."

"Not a problem."

"Hey, could you do me a solid? Hold off anybody looking for me until I get back."

"And when will you be back?"

He smiled. "I have no idea."

* * *

The next morning, Mutt called his dad. "Hey dad, I hear you're looking for me?"

"Good to hear from you son. Yeah, I'm going on another adventure. The usual… commies… killers… ancient artifact with rumored magical properties. I wouldn't have called you but… well, I'm old. You don't mind taking a break from your studying do you?"

"Dad you know that any time I spend with you in life-and-death situations takes priority over school any day. Where do you want to meet?"

"I'll have a friend of mine pick you up at the airport in Cairo."

* * *

Rorschach watched as the two planes the Joneses took flew across the Owlship's radar system. Their paths were traced in a trail of short red dashes. Rorschach grunted and altered course slightly.


	3. Chapter 3

Mutt got out of the plane and looked around. He saw the sign for Henry Jones and moved to the person carrying it. "I'm Jones." He said.

"A pleasure to meet you." The Asian man holding the sign shook his hand. "My name is Jackie Chan. I'm a good friend of your father, we went on many adventures together." He picked up one of Mutt's bags and they walked to his car.

"Really." Mutt said. "My dad never mentioned anybody besides an endless parade of beautiful women and old archeologist friends. So you're an archeologist?"

Jackie Chan laughed. "No… I'm a runaway. I got caught up in one of your father's adventures when I was a child and we soon became fast friends. He called me Short Round back then."

A flutter of recognition slipped through Mutt's mind and he snatched at it. "Oh yeah… I remember the old man telling me about a kid named Short Round. You were on him with some adventures in the jungle yeah? Something about stones of Kali?"

"Yes, that was me." Short Round smiled. "Come on… Indy's going to be waiting for us.

* * *

Rorschach stuck to the alleyways. He didn't want to frighten the locals.

Jones had made one call after arriving in Egypt. After tracing the call to his son, a known art thief, Rorschach was unconvinced of Jones' dedication to archeology. His suspicions were even more aroused by the driver who picked his son up from the airport. Jackie Chan, world renowned martial artist. Bodyguard? Enforcer?

Too many options. None of them looking good for Jones.

* * *

The hotel was sweltering. "Hasn't anybody in Egypt heard of air conditioning?" Mutt asked, taking off his jacket.

"Hello Junior." Indiana Jones emerged from the shadows.

"Dad." Mutt rubbed his hands. "Where's mom?"

"She's home with your little brother." He said. "Hey Short Round. It's been a while buddy."

"Too long Indy." He smiled and shook hands. "It is good to see you again my friend."

"Likewise."

"So, what did you drag us out into the desert for pops?" Mutt asked.

"This." Jones pointed to a map on the table in front of the two of them. "I've translated an ancient stone tablet that's supposed to be the key to the location to the Golden Wedge of Ophir."

"Wait, wait…" Mutt snapped his fingers. He remembered something. "Isn't Ophir supposed to be… not in Africe?"

Jones smiled. "It's good to see you're paying attention in school." Mutt felt a twinge of guilt.

"From what I've managed to learn from this tablet, the wedge is supposed to be a royal knife. It was a gift from the royal family of Ophir to King Solomon as he was building his temple. According to the tablet, when the temple was ransacked a small group of mercenaries stole several artifacts which found their way into Alexander the great. Among them was the wedge, which is rumored to have been the blade Alexander used to cut through the Gordian knot."

"So… this knife is supposed to be magical? What's it do?"

Jones shrugged. "I have no idea. The reason I called you two, is because the Russians have gotten to it first. The wedge was supposedly taken by Alexander's general Gideon before he followed his commander to the grave. They found general Gideon's grave and they're moving their finds now. I don't know about you, but I don't want these falling into the wrong hands."

Mutt shook his head. He realized why his old man had asked for his help. Typical. "Alright. How many armed guards are we talking about here?"

* * *

Finding the Russians was easy. Just find the man in expensive looking close. The hairy one who's sweating more than he should, unaccustomed to the heat.

After that, follow him. More expensive clothes. Then expensive cars. Rorschach hid under the undercarriage of a jeep. It felt like… a little less than seven kilometers out.

When they reached the dig site, the Comedian was nowhere in sight. Didn't mean he wasn't a threat. Rorschach kept out of sight.

Everybody was talking Russian. They were loading boxes into crates. Nikolas was there. He suddenly saw the connections. Jones. A highly trained war veteran and an archeologist. An art thief son. Jones must have been paid by Veidt to steal something the Russians found. Nikolas paid Blake for protection. Really? Is Jones such a threat that Nikolas felt the need to hire somebody like Blake?

Insufficient data. Must investigate further.

Language barrier might be a problem.

One soldier opened the door to a jeep and got in. He was sweating badly. He took a large swig from his canteen and lit a cigarette.

Rorschach tore out of the upholstery. One hand moved the soldier's mouth, the other relieved him of his gun and pressed it to his back. "_Don't talk, you live. Don't make a wrong move, you live._"

The man struggled and Rorschach took the cigarette out of his mouth. Still covering his mouth, he maneuvered his fingers so the tip of the cigarette touched the soldier's eye. The man writhed, unable to scream, and flailed at Rorschach. Rorschach grabbed one of the flailing arms with his gun hand and broke several fingers. He then returned the gun to its place against the soldier's back.

"_Do that again, it will be worse._" He growled. "_Nikolas._"

The soldier froze. Recognition.

"_Nikolas. What is he after?_"

The soldier struck again, this time a precision strike to Rorschach's head. It almost caught him off guard. Almost. It wouldn't happen again.

Ten minutes later, the language barrier was no longer an issue.

The soldier indicated that what Nikolas wanted was in the truck with license plate 6E8 444R. Rorscharch rewarded him by snapping his neck and stuffing his body inside his hiding place in the upholstery. The soldier was big. Had to remove some stuffing. Smell wouldn't register for days. Not in this heat, with everybody making their own smells.

Rorschach's language was universal.


	4. Chapter 4

The Comedian stood on the ledge overlooking the Russian jeeps. "Kid, you do not belong here."

"I think you'll find that I do." A young man with a slight French accent in finely pressed clothes stood beside him. "And I will thank you not to address me as a kid."

The Comedian chuckled and shook his head. "A Frenchman, a Russian, and an American walked into a bar. The Russian ordered vodka. The American ordered a beer. The Frenchman ordered a glass of water. The other two had to carry the Frenchman home, stone drunk."

"I do not get drunk from a glass of water." The kid said, annoyed.

"No, you don't understand." The Comedian said, flicking the kid's stylish lapel. "The place where Russian and American drank was famous for its drinks being so strong, that even the glass of water had alcohol in it. And you can't hold your liquor."

The kid fumed, as the Comedian silently chuckled. Missing out when a pair of hands pulled a couple of mercenaries behind a corner.

* * *

The Russians were loading three trucks full of crates. They were beginning to leave, piling into their jeeps, laughing to themselves and stretching out comfortably. They knew they were professionals, the likes of which nobody could take anything from.

Indiana Jones watched from behind a hill of excavated dirt.

As the last of the Russians began to pack up, Indiana and Jackie snuck out dressed in the mercenary's uniforms, and into the jeep where they'd seen the Russians put the crate with the knife. Indiana fumed as he slid through the boxes in the compartment. "Look at all of this." He said. "All of this treasure from one tomb, and they'll box it up and keep it to themselves." He shook his head in disdain. "Come on. Let's hurry up about this."

Suddenly, a small man shot out of his hiding place and shot a fist out. Jackie blocked it, but retreated backwards, shaking his hands in pain. Jackie brought his fists back, and Rorschach quickly grabbed Indiana by the Jacket and used him as a human shield.

"Ow!" Indiana yelled as Jackie's fist connected.

"Sorry Indy." Jackie said. Jackie quickly ran up the sides of the crates, trying to get behind Rorschach. But Rorschach was quick too, and he kept Indiana between him and Jackie.

"Call of your bodyguard." Rorschach growled.

"I don't need a bodyguard." Indiana chuckled. The truck started moving forward, and Rorschach temporarily lost his balance. Indiana moved forward and head-butted Rorschach. Rorschach kept his grip though, so Indiana shifted his arms out of his jacket and slipped away while Jackie delivered a flying kick.

Rorschach kept up the charge, but Jackie quickly put him in a variety of holds until he was pinned against the crates with Jackie's hand over his mouth.

"Let's get out of here quickly." Indiana said. He prepared to take the lid off a crate.

Rorschach snarled, and bit the hand covering his mouth.

"Ah!" Jackie removed his hand, shook it, and punched Rorschach. "Hurry up Indy. He bites."

Indiana removed the crate's lid. He was expecting the Golden Wedge. It wasn't there.

Just a box with several wires.

"Get out!" He yelled.

* * *

The Comedian watched as the trucks began to move. He was on high alert.

Not that he needed to be. A smile came to his lips and a chuckle to his throat as the beeper connected to the crates in the truck went off, signaling somebody else was in there.

"Jones is here." He told the French kid. "Good thing I switched the crates."

He ruffled. "I assume you're going to say something horrible like 'who's laughing now'?"

"Nah." The Comedian said. "I'm more of a Loony Tunes man." He motioned to the red box on the ground with a lever sticking out the top. The French kid smiled, and pushed down on the bomb.

* * *

Indiana Jones pushed Jackie out of the truck. Rorschach saw what had them in a hurry, and decided to follow them. He felt the heat at his back as he jumped, and went limp.

* * *

The truck exploded behind them as the three of them leaped out of it.

Indiana saw the convoy pull away, but one jeep split off and drove back towards them. Two Russians stood up in the back seats, pointing machine guns at them. He got up as machinegun fire ripped through the ground.

* * *

The Comedian watched Jones run like a chicken across the desert, followed by a steady stream of fountains where the bullets kicked up dirt. He hefted a rocket launcher and pointed it at Jones. "Time to finish what you started."

Suddenly, something glinted in the corner of his eye. It was a silver grappling hook. "What the…"

* * *

Rorscharch kept a tight grip on the device, and pushed the button to start reeling him in. He was pulled up, and he swung across. He'd never been comfortable with acrobatics. He wasn't afraid of heights or anything, it just felt wrong. Especially in combat scenarios. Who needed to flip around when all you needed to beat your enemie was stick a knife in there eye?

Still, it did come in handy to know, every once in a while.

He let go of the grappling hook (making a note to get it back later) and flipped in the air for momentum, landing on the hood of one of the jeeps.

* * *

"What was that?" The French kid yelled as he watched Rorscharch tear into the jeep's occupants. "I thought you figured out all the angles?"

"Rorscharch has a way of bending angles kid." The Comedian launched his rocket but came just short of hitting his intended target.

Because they were on a motorbike.

The Comedian swore. "Looks like we're doing this the old fashioned way." He said. "Slapstick."

* * *

The trio roared forward on Mutt's motorbike. "I told you, you guys would need me." Mutt yelled over his bike's engine.

"Just drive!" Indiana yelled behind him. He'd already seen the precariousness of the situation. Three trucks, now two since one just blew up. There were four jeeps, each loaded with Russian mercenaries. One was slowing down to meet up with them, the other was swerving wildly as the mercs tried to combat Rorscharch, and the other two were guarding the trucks and their leader in the bulletproof sedan. The road from the excavation site into town had a Cliffside along most of its right side, dropping off when it met an actual cliff, and from there it was just a bridge away from the nearest town. Indiana had no doubt in his mind that somebody who had thought to set a trap with a fake wedge would be prepared enough to blow up a bridge if it came down to it.

"We have to get to it before they reach the bridge!" He called out to Mutt.

"You got it old man!" As the jeep drew close enough that the two Russian soldiers readied their guns at the trio, Mutt reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife. He said a quick apache prayer, before he threw it.

Somebody on the move, aiming for a moving target, both going several miles and hour.

The knife hit dead-on.

The left tire of the jeep burst, and it veered wildly out of control, throwing the soldier's aim askew. Instead of doing the smart thing and stopping, the driver tried to regain control. The jeep veered wildly, sand flaring up from underneath the axel grinding on the ground, before finally flipping onto its side.

"Woah!" Mutt turned the steering on his bike hard, and the three of them swerved underneath the truck as it flipped through the air. As soon as the danger passed, he steered the bike upright. "You alright old man?"

"Just catch up to that truck!" Indiana yelled.

"Yeah, you're alright. What about you Short Round?"

There was no reply from behind them.

"Jackie?" Indiana spun in his seat, and watched as Jackie ran behind them, doing his best to try and catch the high speed chase.

"We got 'em!" Mutt shot another knife into the truck, and the latch fell open. Mutt closed in on it, trying to time it right so no bumps in the road interfered, then drove up the ramp and into the truck. "Safe!" He called out.

The carts burst open, and three Russian mercenaries pointing machine guns at them.

"Wrong truck." Indiana noted.

"Wrong truck." Mutt agreed.

He reached for a knife, and Indiana shot out a fist.

* * *

Blow after blow rained in on Rorschach. The Russians hit hard. Good thing… "AAAAAARGH!" … that there was only one left now.

The car bumped over the body of the mercenary Rorschach just threw out in front. The last Russian was holding a gun, but he couldn't get a shot off because of the bump. Rorschach grabbed the gun and crushed the fingers around it. The Russian screamed – not KGB apparently, - and Rorschach decided to use it. A simple twist of the wrist, and the barrel of the gun would find its way into the russian's mouth, like somebody tying to commit suicide. Blood would be a pain to remove from his glove though.

Once the last Russian was finished, Rorschach turned his attention to the road. One sedan, two trucks, two jeeps. The Joneses had entered into the back of one of the trucks. Judging by the Russians flying out of the back, it was another trap.

So the trap was set for them. They want what they Russians found. And the Russians know this, so they set traps for them. No matter. Rorschach wasn't going to fall into those traps, because he wasn't concerned with the prize; he wanted Nikolas.

He accelerated the jeep. Another jeep closed in. like a Vulture. The lined themselves up to Rorschach and he didn't wait for them to shoot before he rammed into them. Hopefully, he could grind them against the cliff face.

Rorschach banged into them again. And again. But the Russians were good. Rorschach couldn't keep attacking them when they were trying to shoot him in the head.

Suddenly, the canvas on the truck to his right was torn open. Jones Junior looked around, then swung onto the back of Rorschach's jeep on a strip of the clothe. He leaped from Rorschach's jeep onto the back of the Russian's jeep, tossing something at the one who came closest to shooting him. Russian ignored it of course. Big mistake.

Junior leaped again, over the soldier's heads and onto the hood of their jeep. And then again, into the back of the third truck. Rorschach wouldn't have bet on him making it, if he hadn't thrown a grenade into the Russians beforehand. Fortunately, the explosion propelled him forward.

Good. Now Rorschach could focus on Nikolai.s

* * *

The thick hand held phone rested on the Comedian's shoulder as he sped forward on a motorcycle. "What am I paying you for!" A thick Russian voice screamed through the phone. "My entire personal army, and they're being torn apart by three men! THREE MEN! Get down here and…"

The Comedian tossed the phone away. "You know, it's a good thing these portable phones aren't popular yet." He said. "The world's so small already, I think it'd crack under its own weight if it got any smaller."

The young French kid riding behind him didn't think this was funny at all. He was too busy hiding in the Comedian's leather jacket. What a lousy audience.

They sped through the wreckage strewn on the path, and past the asian man still trying to catch up to the chase (he had a good laugh at that one).

They caught up to the road battle quickly. He could see Jones driving one of the trucks. Figures. Nikolai should have let him put explosives in all of them. But no… he's gone for a little while and suddenly everybody gets delusions of grandeur. Everybody has to think they're some sort of comic book serial villain.

If the world is a joke, then they would be the punch line.

He sped up alongside Indy's truck. He waited until Indy was finished beating up the guy riding shotgun, and then waved. Indy's eyes suddenly became the size of tea saucers. Ah, it was that moment of dawning comprehension that the Comedian lived for. With a final jaunty wink, he lobbed a grenade through the window and sped up, leaving Indiana behind him in a truck that soon became a ball of fire.

"I told you, Jones was mine!" The Frenchie yelled behind him.

"You can have the other one!" The Comedian laughed. "I doubt that grenade killed him anyway, I just wanted him away from the fight."

"How could he have possibly survived that!"

"Indiana Jones is one of two people I know who survived an atomic bomb. Trust me, I only slowed him down. Now, why don't you take your little pigsticker and get in there?"

The French kid leaped off of the back of the bike, and into the truck with Jones Junior.

The Comedian sped up his bike, and went after Rorschach.

Rorschach saw him coming. As well as the last jeep full of Russian soldiers. The Comedian gave a signal, and the jeep rammed against Rorschach's vehicle, pinning him to the side of the cliff. The bridge was coming up, and if he stayed pinned, Rorschach wouldn't make it. He'd drive off the edge into his doom. The Comedian laughed, and drove his bike over to the truck.

* * *

Rorschach struggled regain control of his steering. "Stupid! Stupid!"

He suddenly noticed a lot of guns pointed at him, and took out his own gun. It didn't have a grappling hook in it any more, but the pneumatic frame would be effective enough even if, say, it was loaded with human fingers.

KGB training involved crawling through a pool of blood, guts, and razorwire, in order to prepare their soldiers for the harshness of war. But Rorschach was worse.

He had crawled through the ashes of a little girl. He once had his guts spill out of a fresh open chainsaw wound, and he stitched the wound up himself with what he found at a nearby knitting club, while pursuing the madman. The Russians may have tried to acclimate themselves to war, but even they began to grow scared as fingers flew at them, sinking in through their ribcages, slashing their necks, spraying blood in their eyes.

The one most damaged was the driver, just as Rorschach had aimed for. He leaped over to the other car, pulled the drive from his seat, and with a roar of effort tossed the brute into his jeep.

He jumped behind the wheel, Russians screaming and pointing guns at him, and he steered sharply to the right. Most of the mercenaries didn't have their seatbelts on. Their mistake.

The remaining Russian saw his friends fall, and with an roar that was half afraid and half angry, he grabbed the steering wheel and drove for the cliff's edge. Rorschach went for the fingers. Then the eyes. Then the throat. Then the genitals. And then, he decided he should leave the vehicle because none of this slowed the mercenary down or steered the car away from the cliff.

By the time Rorschach had decided to leave, the two jeeps were already over the edge.

* * *

Mutt opened up three cases before he knew that this was the truck with the wedge in it. All three cases had wedges, or wedge replicas. At least there were no bombs, and no…

He felt something cold and sharp press against his neck. "Stand and be recognized." Said somebody with a French accent.

Mutt stood, and face somebody around his age, maybe older, with blonde hair and a very nice rapier. "Is this seventeenth century?" Mutt asked interestingly.

"Oh yes." The Frenchie smiled. "It was a gift from Hernan Cortez to the King of Spain who put it in his private WAIT!" The smiled disappeared and the grip on the rapier grew firmer. "I know what you were trying to do Mr. Jones. No tricks. My name is –"

A jolt in the road, and Mutt pulled back, drawing his own sword. "My name is Mutt." He said. "Mr. Jones is my father."

The two engaged in ferocious sword combat. Mutt thought he knew what he was doing more; he knew the styles and the forms. The French kid knew them too, not as well but he knew them, and he was fast.

One particularly vicious thrust got past his defenses, and Mutt barely had time to duck out of the way, the blade slicing his cheek. He grabbed the Wedge of Ophir, or at least one of its replicas, and started going into two weapon stances.

"You're good." Mutt said, as they continued their lethal dance. "Do you have a name? I want to know what to carve onto your tombstone."

"Gladly." The Frenchie said through gritted teeth. "My name is –"

Bullets ripped through the sides of the tent, and the two of them ducked. "Comedian!" The Frenchie yelled.

"Your name's Comedian?" Mutt asked. "You know, you're not very funny. Of course, it sounds like your parents definitely had a sense of humor."

"SHUT UP!" The Frenchie's sword flew like lightning, cutting into the sleeves of Mutt's jacket, no matter how hard he tried to block.

"Didn't like that parent crack huh?" Mutt gasped. "Well, looks like I'm fighting a mama's boy."

"I SAID SHUT UP!" He was becoming unfocused, and Mutt parried quickly, sacrificing his fake golden knife to steal the sword out of the Frenchie's hand, and ran him through with his own sword. The Frenchie screamed, but he pulled himself in on the sword and grabbed Mutt's sword, unimpaling himself and taking Mutt's sword with him. He lunged, and knocked his sword out of Mutt's hands and out onto the desert floor.

The Frenchie eyed him triumphantly, like a wolf. Mutt frantically patted down his jacket, and brought out a knife, flipping it open… to reveal his comb. He smiled apologetically, and ran it through his hair, before putting it back in his jacket and putting his fists up.

The Frenchie found it all very amusing. "And now, Jones Junior, now you know my name. You know who I am, and why you are not fit to lick the dirt off of my boots, or even speak my parent's names. I am –"

"Mutt!"

At the sound, Mutt leaped out of the back of the truck. He was caught by Jackie Chan, riding his motorcycle, with his dad in the backseat.

The Frenchie glared out of the back of the truck, enraged. As the truck drove across the bridge, The Frenchie screamed at the top of his lungs;

"My name is François Belloq! And I will have revenge for my father!"

He took out a grenade and threw it at them. Jackie clumsily steered the bike away, and the three of them tumbled off of it into the desert sand, the grenade blowing up nearby.

The watched as the truck stopped in the middle of the bridge. Belloq, and the two Russians driving it got out and ran for the other side. Once there, the truck blew up, taking the bridge with it.

* * *

"Well." The Comedian chuckled. "That went well."

"How so?" Asked the shadowy figure inside of the Sedan.

"Well, you still have two guys left." The Comedian said. "You hired me to protect you from Jones, and I would have. But Rorschach can do some damage too, and when he let Jones loose… well to be blunt, Jones could have wiped out your whole personal army and you only brought a squad."

"We have reserves." Nikolas said dismissively. "You're right about one thing though, this hasn't been a complete disaster. At least that Rorschach man is dead."

"I wouldn't take that seriously until you see the body." The Comedian said. "Rorschach can be a persistent little %$#."

"Must you destroy every silver lining?"

"I don't destroy silver linings, I just point out that it's only tin. I gotta ask though Ruskie… why did you blow up the truck with the prize in it?"

"What do you take me for, some sort of serial villain? Why would I paint a big bull's eye on my prize when there's even a chance he might hit it? Blake, the Wedge has been with me, in my car the entire time."

And the window rolled up, and they drove away.


End file.
